Ice
by Dreamer13
Summary: Just a little fic about Hermione and Draco. Hermione discovers something she didn't want to know about. Not that good.


None mine. Duh.  
  
  
Ice  
  
Hermione's hands trailed over his skin, leaving searing paths of ice.   
"You'd think it would be the Slytherin, cold and heartless, whose hands are so incredibly   
freezing." Draco laughed, able to see the irony in the situation. Hermione laughed, too, tipping   
her head back and giving him a glimpse of the skin he so desperately wanted. Taking a chance,   
he leaned in and lightly brushed his lips across her pale, chilled neck. She tensed, and he paused   
his eyes rolling upwards to meet with hers and seek permission. Closing her eyes and leaning   
back, she gave him the opening he'd been thirsting after for almost a year. He worked his magic   
on her, slowly drawing her from her shell.   
"Is that it?" It was almost funny, the way she sqinched her eyes and stared up at him. He   
grinned down at her.  
" That," he said, "was just to warm you up." Their eyes met and he asked the question   
that had lingered on his lips for months. She nodded and he shifted in position, readying himself   
mentally for what was to come. As he twisted his torso, fingers fumbling with the clasp that held   
his robes to his body, he found himself pushed backwards. Hermione was now sitting on his   
belly, leaning forward to kiss his lips. Brushing his hands gently from the front of his robes, she   
pulled them down to her knees. With one hand caught under each knee, he grinned up at her, one   
eyebrow raised.   
He watched her shed her outer robes to reveal the casual clothes underneath. Since it was   
late May, she wore only light clothes. A thin cotton shirt and khaki shorts met his eyes, and he   
smiled, the gentle smile that he reserved only for her. No one else had seen that smile.   
It was his turn now, that he could see. Hermione was looking slightly embarrassed, a   
puzzled expression on her face. He freed his hands and undid the clasp of his robes, trailing a   
teasing finger over the crack of skin and cloth that appeared.   
She was confident again, and she took up where he'd stopped, trailing her finger in small   
circles that pushed his robes farther and farther off his chest, until they fell in a heap on either   
side of his body.  
Rolling over so she was again on the bottom, his robes tenting around the two of them.   
She giggled and pushed them back along his shoulders, tenderly rubbing circles along his   
muscular shoulders, and down his arm to the gorgeous biceps.   
Her hand caught on something, something engraved in his skin. She circled it   
thoughtlessly, even as he stiffened. They both paused in their movements, Draco in the process   
of kissing his way down her left arm. She pushed him roughly so he slid off of her, his eyes   
pleading helplessly with hers to stop. His left hand had snaked its way to his shoulder, holding   
the flap of cloth firmly in place.  
"Draco, what is that?" Her voice was softly accusing. "A tattoo? It wasn't there last time   
I saw you." She stared at him, trying to read the expression on his face. His eyes were down, he   
looked ashamed, and she wasn't used to this side of him. But he wouldn't answer her. His lips   
were set in a steely line. "Draco, what is it?" Her voice became more desperate, more insistent,   
and sharper. But he sat there, staring at his feet, in maddening silence. "Show me your arm,   
Draco. Your arm." She pulled at his hand, expecting him to fight her. He didn't. He simply let   
his hand slide away, floating down to rest in his lap. She pushed his sleeve up, up, over his   
shoulder. There, branded into his arm, an ugly brown surrounded by a ring of bruised flesh, was   
the nightmarish sign of hate. The sign that he'd sworn he'd never have. The sign of Voldemort.  
In an instant she was up, pushing him roughly, grabbing her robes and dashing for the   
door. He sat, staring at her with a dazed expression on his face. As she touched the doorknob   
she heard his voice calling softly. "Please, Hermione…" he trailed away, looking everywhere   
but at her face. Still staring at his feet, he reached a hand out to her. Wrenching open the door,   
Hermione threw herself out into the corridor. Leaning back into the room to pull the door shut   
behind her she looked down at his pathetic figure, arm outstretched, eyes down. She stretched   
her arm out to him, fingertips brushing, then recoiled sharply. The door slammed behind her as   
she ran down the hall.   
His fingers had been ice cold.   
  
Review if you feel like it-I know this one was pretty bad. 


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